Not jealous, are you?
by ReixGaara
Summary: To make Lestrade take notice, Sherlock picks up a stranger, who is very strange and very excited to be inside him. M/M. Sherstrade. Sherlock/? Standard disclaimers apply. I own nothing. Part 3 of dirty little FIcs series.


Work Text:

"Ngh, fuck! You like that? Huh? Mmmm, tell Daddy how it feels?"

Sherlock very nearly rolled his eyes at the man, younger than himself or nearly the same age, calling him Daddy but the man did have a certain...vigor. The hand clenched tight in his curls making his body arch was strong but surprisingly smooth. Not much for manual labor, this one. But the man was excited, far more excited than he'd initially seemed when Sherlock had picked him up. They'd bantered over a few obvious deductions at the bar before the man was dragging Sherlock into the back of his van and tearing their pants open.

"Mmm, come on, Sherlock, you like it rough like this, don't you?" the man growled in a too friendly Irish accent, causing Sherlock to sulk. His plan was not working. He'd been sure that Lestrade was keeping an eye on him, Mycroft would have insisted. Ever since he and the detective had stopped shagging it had been hell to work with the man, bribery with sexual favors having gone out the window. Lestrade was trying to work things out with that woman...again.

"Do you have any blow?" he asked in a bored tone, pulling himself off of the Irishman's cock and stretching out his sore muscles. How long had they been fucking like this now? How long had he been waiting for Lestrade to break them up? Long enough for the sex to stop being fun.

"Of course, darling. Anything for you, Sherlock."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Sherlock tried to remember if he'd told the man his name. He must have before they started. No, in the bar?

"Here, knock yourself out a bump. I'll keep going if you don't mind," the man purred, fingers tightening on Sherlock's hips as he slid back into Sherlock's raw, well fucked hole.

Just as he opened the bag and scooped some of the oh so tempting powder onto the webbing between his thumb and forefinger the doors to the back of the van were wrenched open. "Bout fucking time," Sherlock grumbled under his breath as he looked up to see Lestrade looking into the vehicle. What he didn't expect to see was the man's police issue 9mm pointed just above his head.

"Toss the bag, Sherlock," Lestrade snapped, lifting his arm just enough that he could blow the Irishman's head clean off with a shot. At least, that's what he wanted to do. "You, take your prick out of him...NOW! Get on the floor on your , come on."

A slow, manic grin slid across the other man's face as he slowly pulled his hips back and shuffled away from Sherlock's elevated ass, his hands pressed to the roof of the van. "I didn't know you were bringing a friend, Sherlock. This is quite the party," the man drawled.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock pulled up his trousers and hopped out of the van, wincing as he straightened. His ass burned, as did the spots on his wrists where they'd started with the handcuffs.

"Let's go," Lestrade snapped, taking a firm hold of Sherlock's skinny arm and dragging him away.

"Farewell, Sherlock. We'll finish this another time, shall we?" the man in the van singsonged, tucking his cock back into his pants.

"You STAY AWAY from him!" Lestrade bellowed over his shoulder, turning just enough that he could fix the young man with a warning stare.

"Oh yes, another time," the man murmured, pulling the doors to the back of the van closed. "You did make a hell of a first impression, Sherlock. I'm glad I waited to meet you. It's time to start the fun."

"Jim? Your chat with General Shan is ready and waiting."

Smiling in satisfaction, Jim Moriarty tapped the button on the handheld. "Yes, alright, Sebby, I'm coming. This one is going to be the most fun to play with," he mused aloud.

Dragging Sherlock down the block, Lestrade waited until they were out of sight of the van before pinning the consulting detective up against the side of the building, one of his hands curling around Sherlock's throat. "Are you fucking stupid! All that work you did! You would have thrown it all away, just like that. You wouldn't have been able to take anymore cases with me. Why the FUCK would you do that?" Lestrade punctuated the word fuck by halfheartedly slamming Sherlock back against the building, his frustration with the man at a boiling point.

"He was boring. It wasn't enough..." Sherlock choked out, though his hands went to pull Lestrade's hips forward instead of taking the pressure off his throat. "You're not boring. You make it good. That...gun wasn't boring. You're...not jealous, are you?" he hissed, though his eyes narrowed victoriously as the older man began to press against him.

"Fucking stupid," Greg snapped, just before his teeth were pulling at Sherlock's fat, lower lip, their hips rocking and grinding desperately together. "That's bastard could have hurt you, drugged you, killed you," he snarled, biting at the back of Sherlock's jaw as his hands began to pet along that long, perfect body. "You don't take that risk, not ever. You're mine. You're mine and I don't want you to end up my next victim.

"Fine..." Sherlock's tongue flicked against Lestrade's as their hips canted together and they both panted desperately. "Just...just give me what I need."

Greg's usually warm, brown eyes darkened and he took a hold of Sherlock's chin. "You're going to regret those words, Sherlock. I'll give you what you fucking need, alright..."


End file.
